


shoreline

by chanson



Category: NU'EST, Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Merpeople, Slow Build, as slice of life as i could make it, past 2hyun, which is still not very much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 02:06:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14094681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanson/pseuds/chanson
Summary: Minhyun has always been enchanted by the sea.When he moves to a quiet coastal town for a fresh start, he discovers that the magic in the waves may be more literal than he once assumed.





	shoreline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catastrophes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catastrophes/gifts).



> happy (very belated) birthday jo! since i've known you, my life has undeniably changed for the better and i am genuinely humbled to be able to call you my friend. thank you for your unwavering love and support; i would cross entire oceans for you.
> 
> ...but apparently, still not meet a deadline. oops. nevertheless, here are some words. there will be more words to follow. 
> 
> (also, i apologize for the cop out and for not having a fresher story idea for you, but ya girl's not that inventive and i still wanted to gift you _something_ to show my appreciation.)
> 
> ♡ ♡ ♡

Minhyun is seven the first time he visits the sea.

They’re on a family vacation. A proper one. His father insists on bringing his work laptop with him and grimaces when the wind whips at his neatly combed hair, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s standing on soft white sand rather than the carpet of a high rise office building in Seoul.

Jeju-do is beautiful and Minhyun could not be more excited. He spent the entire ride from the airport to their resort with his face pressed up against the window of their chauffeured car, trying to absorb as much of the view as he could. He’d seen pictures of the ocean, of course, and even listened to Sujin describe it from her vague recollections of when Minhyun was a toddler and they still lived in Busan.

The descriptions of a nine-year-old really don’t do it justice, Minhyun finds, because while “big” and “blue” are both accurate statements, she leaves out the most important part which is that the sunlight dancing across the waves makes the sea sparkle, as though infused with fairy dust.

Sujin wastes no time, rushing immediately towards the water the moment they arrive at the beach. Minhyun races after her, a few steps behind.

She splashes forward. Minhyun stops short.

He approaches the ocean with the same sort of caution he exhibits to every new thing he tries, grazing the water with just his toes at first, then a whole foot, before he finally deems it safe enough to take few steps forward into the shallows. The waves wash up gently to pool around his ankles, before they ebb again, leaving his feet glistening and cool.

“What’s taking you so long?” Sujin badgers him, impatient frown on her face.

She’s waded deeper, to where the waves rise to meet her chest, even though their mother warned them not to venture farther than waist-level. Sujin has always liked to push boundaries.

“ _Hurry up_  so we can play.”

Minhyun looks ahead at the expanse in front of him, a mesmerizing cerulean ocean that stretches beyond where his eyes can see, seemingly infinite. Then he looks at Sujin, who stands there waiting for him, and hesitantly walks towards her, against the resistance of the tide.

For a moment, Minhyun feels his skin prickle, but he ignores it. He’s having far too much fun now that he’s thrown caution to the wind. They splash around in the shallow waters and Minhyun rides each swell, loving the feeling of giving control over to the sea and letting the waves carry him. Sujin even teaches him how to float.

His cheeks ache from how hard he’s grinning and it’s probably the best twenty minutes of his life, until his mother calls for them to come out so they can eat lunch.

When Minhyun emerges from the water, the faint prickle turns into a sharp sting — a searing heat underneath his skin. Sujin’s horrified gasp says it all. When Minhyun looks down he sees that the entire lower half of his body is covered in angry rashes. Every centimeter where the water had kissed his skin, it had left in it’s wake a trail of scorching red marks. 

His mother panics. His father is simply enraged.

“I told you this was a terrible idea,” his father growls, and Minhyun watches through glazed eyes as his parents argue in the emergency waiting room of Jeju National University Hospital. Sujin, who sits behind him, is sullen; disappointed at their sudden departure from the beach.  
  
Minhyun remains calm while they sit there, despite the discomfort, and wills himself not to scratch. He remains calm as the nurse feeds him antihistamines and as the overworked doctor tries to reassure his mother that it really is just an allergic reaction, and Minhyun hasn’t been stung by any life-threatening jellyfish.

He remains calm the entire time because he’s been in etiquette lessons since he was five and was taught not to yell out or cry, even if in this moment, he wants to — not because of the pain, but because he knows he’s the reason their vacation will be cut short.

They’re back in Seoul by mid-afternoon of the following day. His mother tells him that it’s so Minhyun can rest at home and make a full recovery. Minhyun nods like he believes that’s really the reason and swallows down the bitter tang that rises in his throat.

They don’t go on another family vacation for the rest of the year. Or the next year. Or the year after that.

〰️

Minhyun is ten when he stops counting.

He no longer holds out hope for another family trip. After all, only children cling onto fantasies, and it’s far more efficient to live a life based in reality. That day at the sea will remain nothing but a soured memory — a few minutes of utter bliss before the bite and sting of the saltwater reminded him that he is only mortal, and that the ocean’s magic is not meant for him.

Instead, he adjusts.

Rather than try to change his family, he sees them for who they are. He learns to understand why his father anticipates the downsides of every possible scenario before he makes a decision; learns to accept the fact that his mother will always be more concerned about appearances than the truth.

His parents are proud of him, and to Minhyun, nothing could matter more.

His father loves how capable Minhyun is, that he's smart and serious and levelheaded and always follows instructions well. His mother is pleased by how handsome he is, says he has the face of an heir worthy of their legacy and name. She proudly tells him about all her friends who have asked after Minhyun, requesting first pick to set him up with their daughters once he’s old enough to date.

Even Minhyun’s teachers point out that he is "mature for his age” and he preens whenever they do.

By all accounts, Minhyun is sensible, and thus it’s easy for Minhyun to understand why they don’t return to the ocean (and if he’s occasionally overwhelmed by a feeling of longing, a wave of nostalgia for a life he never even had, that’s neither here nor there). 

Even when he’s a teenager and does travel again — with his father on business, and mother and sister on vacation — they visit cities far away from the water. Paris, Tokyo, New York. Never the beach.

“It’s all about calculated risks,” his father tells him once, frown lines creasing his forehead as he stares Minhyun down from across his large mahogany desk. “99.9% of the time, you gamble and you’ll lose. You need to wait for the right opportunity. It’s rare, but when it eventually comes, be smart enough to recognize it and take the leap.”

He was instructing Minhyun on how to grow a business, already grooming him to follow in his own footsteps, but Minhyun likes his explanation as a life philosophy. It makes sense to him.

By the time Minhyun is seventeen, he doesn’t even need his father to tell him that going to art school would be a stupid risk. He applies to the business program at SNU and is accepted without any issue.

The memory of that visit to the sea never fades though. It’s branded itself on his mind, and even after all the years, he can still recall the feeling of the ocean breeze ruffling his hair, the warmth of the sand between his toes, and the burn of the water against his skin, so opposite from what he had expected.

He’s entranced by it. Or perhaps, haunted by it. He’s not entirely sure, but what starts off as a mere innocent curiosity of what he had missed out on, soon turns into a full-fledged obsession. 

Over the years, the pages of his sketchbook fill with drawings of sleepy coastal towns, intricate imaginings of underwater worlds, and colorful depictions of the horizon at sunset. He finds himself learning about currents and researching tide patterns. He even entertains the idea of buying a boat. Though he could easily afford one, he ultimately decides that the risk of being stranded at sea with no method of escape is too great.

For Minhyun it serves as a momentary escape, something to occupy his mind with when the stress and pressure in his life threaten to engulf him, and leave him with the bizarre urge to just escape.

Once he’s older and gets his license, he combats those feelings with the occasional drive to the seaside. He’ll find some cafe where he can sit in full view of the ocean, and there he’ll work, or more often, just sketch. He never steps foot in the water, but somehow he still feels more at home in these little seaside towns than he ever has in all the lavish comfort he’s offered in Seoul.

 

〰️

Minhyun is twenty-four when he realizes he’s deeply unhappy.

The waters appear calm, sunlight skimming off the surface that reflects back to Minhyun an image of himself he has cultivated: of accomplishment, of prosperity, of success.

Minhyun was born into a world of opulence, a version of the chaebol romanticism that features in primetime dramas. It would’ve been so easy to cut himself a break like so many of his peers and acquaintances had, but Minhyun has never been one to luxuriate. Never even really learned how to.

Instead, he spent his adolescence grinding down every obstacle on his path to perfection, contorting himself into the form of a son that his father could call a worthy heir to his business empire, who his mother could rightfully brag about over her weekly charity luncheons. After graduating at the top of his class at SNU, Minhyun spent the following two years working tirelessly at his father’s side, earning himself a reputation as a young mastermind that spreads throughout the business world.

But surface is just that. Surface.

Dive in and the tranquility morphs into disturbance — of slightly shifting tectonic plates that knock up against one another and build friction, unseen and unrealized by those standing ashore.

“I have a date tonight,” Jonghyun tells him over breakfast. It’s tradition that they meet every Monday morning at a café since their university days, when that early caffeine boost was essential to surviving their 8:30 am Econometrics lecture.

“Yeah?” Minhyun asks absentmindedly, not pulling his attention away from where he’s scooping liberal amounts of honey into his tea. He quit caffeine two months ago after Sujin gave him a long lecture about his health, but now he’s relying on the sugar boost for the extra zing of energy, so he doesn’t know that it did much good. 

Nothing about Jonghyun’s statement is noteworthy. When you run in a social circle that is fixated on image and status, it’s not uncommon for parents, or even extended family members, to arrange dates on their children’s behalf in hopes of finding them the ideal spouse. Minhyun never asks, but he wouldn’t be surprised if they’d gone out with a few of the same girls. 

“It’s our fifth date.”

That causes Minhyun to lift his gaze. Jonghyun is already looking at him. A beat of a silence, as Minhyun’s brain whirs, trying to process Jonghyun’s words.

He shouldn’t be this surprised. The foundation of Minhyun’s career is built upon anticipating changing market trends, sensing a storm before it happens.

It’s impossible to sustain a relationship that exists only in secrecy, that is comprised of rushed kisses in private corners and touches that wish to linger, but never can, out of fear of being discovered by anyone they know. Out of fear of unraveling everything they’ve spent their lives working towards.

A break up was always in the cards, but Minhyun never expected it to happen so soon.

“Do you want us to stop?” Minhyun asks, hoping for he knows not what—denial maybe, or reassurances.

The sound of Minhyun’s heart breaking is the clink of a spoon being set on marble tabletop and the sharp inhale of breath that follows Jonghyun’s next words: “I think I owe it to her to try.”

The only reason Minhyun manages a nod and smile is because he’s practiced them in the mirror for when a business deal goes sour.

“Thank you,” Jonghyun says, with that shy genuine smile that still makes Minhyun’s heart stutter in his chest, even now. “I’d like you to meet her. When you’re ready.”

And oh, they’re at that stage already. In a matter of minutes, Minhyun has been stripped of his title as lover and relegated to just a close friend. A bitter consolation prize.  

“When I’m ready,” Minhyun concedes. It’s the most he can offer right now, when it feels as though someone has punched through his ribcage and wrenched his heart from his chest.

Jonghyun’s smile is crusted with sadness, but there’s no visible regret. Minhyun searches for it.

“Minhyun-ah,” Jonghyun says, trying to soften the earlier blow with endearment, “even if you’re disappointed now, it’s better this way. I was never enough to make you happy. You deserve someone who can.” 

He’s wrong, Minhyun thinks, but doesn’t say. It was their circumstance that prevented their true happiness. If Jonghyun had asked him to, Minhyun would’ve taken the plunge, would’ve reached for more even if it came at a price. 

But Jonghyun never did ask, so Minhyun says nothing.

Even so, his words about happiness cling to Minhyun like smoke. They stay with him once he leaves the café up until he gets to the office, where he promptly forgets about them, caught up by the busy atmosphere the moment he steps beyond those sliding doors.  

Though he forgets them, too focused on simply trying to move on from Jonghyun to be considering the intention behind his words, they inevitably lodge themselves somewhere in his subconscious. 

It isn’t until he’s in the middle of their quarterly review that it hits him. These meetings are always tedious and drag on for far too long, and by the third hour of discussing possible strategic initiatives, Minhyun has resorted to doodling in the margins of his paper to keep himself awake. 

He’s drawn a sailboat out at sea, and it’s as he shades in the waves and wishes he was there — anywhere, but here, really — that he has the sudden, startling realization. Jonghyun was right.

Minhyun isn’t happy, and it’s not just the fleeting feeling sadness that follows a break up. His unhappiness is a deep-rooted sensation, so much a part of him, that he could barely recognize it for what is was, assuming the constant dissatisfaction he felt could resolved by simply working harder.

More importantly, he recognizes that he isn’t going to find happiness if he stays here, prisoner to this perfectly crafted life he cares nothing about.

When he makes the decision to leave, he knows it’s the right one. Like a key that finally finds its lock, everything slots into place.

Minhyun takes his time to make the necessary arrangements. He doesn’t want to rush it and leave a mess for everyone to have to clean up, preferring a transition that is as smooth as possible. Nevertheless, his mind is made up.

Over the next several months, he closes every deal on his agenda and transfers every client he was working with to another representative at their firm.

When he’s away from the office, he spends his time pouring over the large map of Korea he has spread on the dining room table that came with the furnished apartment, but is far too large to be of any practical use. He marks down different locations along the coast that look promising and on the weekends he drives to each of the destinations.

During his fifth weekend trip, he finally finds the perfect coastal town. The cove is crystal clear and the town is absolutely charming. The locals he crosses paths with seem faintly surprised to see a tourist during offseason, but are nonetheless welcoming. 

Minhyun stands on the shore and closes his eyes, taking in the scent of the air and the feeling of the breeze ruffling his hair. He imagines a future here, of slow days spent enjoying the individual moments of his life, rather than getting lost in the rush of it all.

When he later sees the ‘help wanted’ sign hanging on the door of the tourist shop — which seems as much a collection of odd, whimsical miscellany as it does a storefront for tacky knick-knacks — he feels it’s fate. Before long, he has a job lined up and signed the lease for a cottage on the bluff. It’s picturesque if a bit run down, but that sort of project only gets Minhyun excited by it’s potential.

One of the final items on his to-do list is to meet Jonghyun and Nayoung for lunch. They dine in the restaurant of the new Westin that just opened and have a perfectly pleasant time. She’s polite and pretty and like so many of the girls Minhyun has met, but the difference is reflected back to Minhyun in Jonghyun’s eyes, in the edges of his soft smile. That smile is enough for Minhyun to know it’s time to let go, and he leaves the lunch feeling more sure about his choice than ever before.

He doesn’t tell Jonghyun that he plans to leave. He doesn’t tell his colleagues or his friends. He doesn’t tell his father, or his mother, or Sujin. The only way he’s certain he’ll be able to follow through with his plan is if no one tries to stop him.

He spends the night of his birthday with only his closest friends — the ones he’ll miss the most. 

They’ve booked a private room in Minhyun’s favorite restaurant in Apgujeong. In appearance, it’s just like any other upscale and overpriced lounge, but they happen to serve the best Galbijjim in all of Seoul.

As usual, Dongho, Minki, and Aron are quick to order drinks. Minhyun paces himself. Though he drinks as a matter of practice simply due to the fact that clients always seem to want to meet over fancy food and fancier alcohol, he’s never developed a true taste for it. The reason he’s savoring his drink tonight is more than that though — he wants to remember this night in its entirety, not usher in his next year with a blur and a hangover.  

His friends have different ideas though, Minhyun notes, as their waiter sets down a row of shots in front of them.

“I propose a birthday toast,” Aron says, reaching for one of the glasses, which is filled with an amber liquor. Everyone follows suit. “To Minhyun who is now only five years away from being the age he wishes he were.”

Minhyun can’t suppress his giggle at that. “I don’t want to  _be_  thirty, I just _feel_ thirty.”

“And yet they call you wunderkind,” Dongho remarks with a disbelieving shake of his head. “That doesn’t seem very fair when you had your adolescence surgically removed.”

“Oh yeah, that’s me,” Minhyun nods, seriously, “who needs awkward years? I’ve certainly never had them.”

His response elicits a chorus of laughter because they recall those days far too well. That’s the thing about childhood friends, no matter how much you grow up, they’ll always remember you as gangly and nerdy and far too enthusiastic about the Transformers franchise.

Minki rests his chin on his hand and flashes Minhyun a deceptively sweet smile. “What’s your goal this year, old man?”

Minhyun’s response is dryer than the Sahara. “To rest.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Dongho says, “I’ve only been telling you to take a vacation for the past three years.”  

“It’s about time,” Aron agrees emphatically and raises his shot to lead the toast. They clink their glasses together and each toss back their drinks. It’s about as smooth as fine liquor gets, but Minhyun still pulls a face. He’d hide it if this was a business meeting, but he doesn’t bother to around his friends.

Aron catches his disgusted expression and shoots him an amused look. “So, a vacation. Any idea what you’ll do?” 

Minki snorts inelegantly. “It’s Minhyun so I think we can safely assume that even his rest days will be meticulously planned out.”

Minhyun thinks about the resignation letter sitting on his father’s desk that he’ll find come Monday morning. The packed bags that lay at the door of his apartment, ready for his departure. The one-way bus tickets he purchased and the new phone number that only Sujin will know when he texts her once he’s safely beyond the perimeter of Seoul.

A soft smile graces his lips.

“I was thinking about going to the sea.”

_It’s nearly winter though_ , Dongho points out, just to be contrary, causing their group to devolve into their usual comfortable bickering. This time the topic of choice is whether or not beach trips are all they’re chalked up to be and if Minhyun is better off waiting until the summer. Aron suggests Minhyun just fly with him to LA where the weather is nice all year round, while Minki firmly tells Minhyun to  _ignore both those idiots_. 

Minhyun observes their bright smiles and echoes it with one of his own, slightly dimmer, a bit more wistful. They’re happy here. They  _belong_  here, unlike Minhyun, and he knows they’ll be okay when he leaves. Every loose end is tied up.

The conversation ebbs and flows and Minhyun leans back in his seat, allowing their laughter and words to wash over him. He savors this moment, burns it in his memory — a keepsake of the best part of his life here.

〰️

The day after his twenty-fifth birthday, he leaves Seoul.

**Author's Note:**

> i guess you could call this a prologue? the "real" first chapter, which includes seongwoo, will hopefully be posted sometime next week. there will be a total of five parts and tags will be added to reflect side pairings and other characters as they're introduced. 
> 
> also i know nothing about minhyun's salt allergy or allergies in general so this is probably wildly inaccurate, forgive me. 
> 
> thanks for giving this a read! xx


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